


methods of persuasion

by valety



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Dancing, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Other, POV Second Person, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 04:37:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6269932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valety/pseuds/valety
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chara, Asriel, and an old phonograph.</p>
            </blockquote>





	methods of persuasion

**Author's Note:**

> warnings for discussion of suicide/suicidal ideation, emotional manipulation, and generally unhealthy relationship dynamics
> 
> these kids are fucked up

When you step into the room, the phonograph in the corner is playing Waltz of the Flowers. Asriel stands in the middle of the floor, eyes closed, arms encircling an invisible partner as he moves and hums along with the music. You lean against the wall, watching in silence, a faint smile playing on your lips.

The record stops and Asriel stops as well. He opens his eyes with a sigh, then yelps in surprise when you give a little wave.

“Chara! H-how long have you been watching?” he demands, face scarlet. He’s glaring, obviously trying to be intimidating. How cute.

“I just got here,” you reassure him, and you walk towards the phonograph sitting on the dresser. It’s scuffed and worn, just like everything in the Underground is, and you trail a finger along the dark wood finish, giving a thoughtful hum.

You learned early on that nothing in the Underground is new, outside of what the monsters could grow or magically create themselves. Almost everything is salvaged from the remnants of human society, recycled from the scraps the surface deemed unnecessary. Despite this, it never fails to surprise you when you encounter technology as old as this, technology that doesn’t seem to fit into the world you’re now accustomed to. You can accept the Underground being a fairyland of knights and palaces and magic, and you can accept the Underground being a bizarro version of the surface, complete with TVs and cellphones, but for Asriel to have a _phonograph_ of all things strikes you as incredibly out of place.  

You have a lot to learn, you guess.

“I didn’t know you could dance,” you say, picking up the paper slip the record came in.

“I...I had to learn,” Asriel explains, coming up awkwardly behind you, watching as you examine the casing. “I mean, I’m the prince. I’ll have to go to a lot of royal functions someday. There’s a lot of dancing at those, apparently.”

“You _are_ the prince, aren’t you?” you murmur, setting down the slip. “I forget sometimes.”

You turn around to face him. Asriel is plucking at the hem of his sweater, watching you with an uncertain smile, as though afraid that you will laugh at him. He doesn’t look particularly prince-like when he cowers like that, you think. 

“Do you have any other records?” you ask.

He visibly relaxes, and you follow him to the toy chest sitting at the foot of his bed, where his records are packed in alongside old stuffed animals and worn toy swords. You flip through his collection as Asriel kneels beside you, chattering away brightly about which ones are his favourites and which ones he thinks you may enjoy. He seems entirely too comfortable now, and so you ask, “Who were you dancing with?”

“Huh?”

“You were pretending to dance with somebody before,” you explain as you choose an album to examine. Ah, the Blue Danube. That old standard. “You had your arms held out as though you were, anyway.”

“N-no I wasn’t!” Asriel stammers, and then he chuckles weakly. “You must be imagining things, haha!”

“Hmm. Maybe,” you concede, and you turn around, bumping him lightly on the snout with the record. “I’m going to put this one on now, okay?”

Asriel nods, looking for all the world as though he's praying for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. You practically skip back over to the phonograph.

You place the record and set the needle in the groove. A moment later, a lilting melody fills the air. As the record spins, you lean against the dresser, steadily tapping along to the rhythm. It’s been ages since you’ve listened to Strauss. You hadn’t been expecting to ever hear it again, outside of your own memories.

Funny how the real thing never quite lives up.

Once again, Asriel quietly approaches you from behind. Though you aren’t looking at him, you can practically hear him fidgeting.

“Did you, um…” he begins, then falls silent.

“Did I what?” you prompt. You’re fairly certain that you know exactly what he’s going to say, but you still want to hear him say it. You’ve earned _that_ much, haven’t you?

“D-did you want to...I mean...I can show you how to dance, if you want,” Asriel offers. His words come out in a rush, and when you turn around to see him, his face is even redder than before.

You love how red his face gets when he’s feeling shy. You hadn’t even known that he could blush in the beginning; he has so much fur, after all. It’s too bad. You would’ve spent more time teasing him if you had known. Soon, you won’t be able to watch him blush anymore. You might miss that.

"I already know how to dance,” you say.

Ignoring his crestfallen expression, you catch him by the hand and waist. Asriel yelps in surprise, but you don’t let go; instead, you step forward, and then the two of you are moving.

You lead, of course. It takes a few bars for you to get a proper feel for the lift and swell of the music, being so out of practice, but your form is perfect and the space between the two of you soon becomes defined by rhythm, a dialogue of motion.

Sure feet and soft steps carry you throughout the room. You almost close your eyes, but if you do, then you’ll forget where you are and who you're with. You force yourself to keep them open, gaze fixed on Asriel.

“Is this what you were imagining?” you ask. 

“Not exactly,” Asriel says weakly. “I...I mean, I wasn’t imagining anything in _particular,_ you know.”

“I know,” you answer with a smirk. You don’t feel bad about lying, not when he’s a liar too. You can both be liars.

If you wanted to, you could probably paint a pretty vivid picture of the fantasy that had likely been running through his mind. You can see it now; you and him, gently spinning on the dance floor, not alone, but so absorbed in one another that you might as well be. Or maybe outside in the moonlight, dancing on the surface in a field of golden flowers, free to laugh and smile at each other and...

Then again, maybe those are just your _own_ fantasies.

Asriel is gaping at you, pupils blown, as you lead him through the room in slow, elegant spirals. Your mouth curves into a smile. A sweet one. The one that makes people listen to you. Normally, Asriel would be suspicious of just how much you’re smiling tonight, but apparently he’s too distracted by the dance to notice. Who would have guessed?

“Do you remember what we talked about before?” you ask.

Instantly, Asriel’s expression darkens.

“Yes,” he replies, voice curt, and his grip on your arm tightens. 

He doesn’t ask you what you mean. There’s only one thing you could be talking about.

“We’ll start tomorrow,” you say, pretending not to notice the discomfort on his face. You keep your hand entwined with his. “I found a patch far enough away from the house that nobody should notice.”

“Do we really…”

“It’s better if they’re fresh,” you interrupt. He stumbles slightly as your feet brush against his own. “We’ll have to do it right there in the garden. Besides, if we bring them back to the house with us, there’s a greater chance your parents will notice and try to stop us. You know how much they worry.”

Asriel nods. He looks unhappy, but that’s okay. He doesn’t have to love your plan; he just has to help you see it through. So long as he doesn’t falter, you will set him free. Then, when it’s all over, your life will finally have had meaning and the monsters will have hope again. Truly a happy ending.

"I'm going to be king someday," he says after a moment, voice soft, eyes distant.

"You won’t _just_ be a king,” you reply. “You’ll be a hero. The greatest king in monster history. The king who liberated the entire Underground when he was just a boy.”

“But what about you?” 

“I’ll still be with you,” you assure him.

Gradually, the two of you grow still, like a pair of matching figurines in a wound-down music box. Your hand remains on Asriel’s waist and his paws stay on your shoulders as you stare into one another’s eyes.

“We won’t be able to dance like this if you don’t have a body anymore,” he says wistfully. 

“That won’t matter.”

"There will be a lot of balls and parties and stuff when I’m king.”

"So?”

"I don’t think I’d want to dance with anyone but you.”

A heavy silence follows.

“We’ll find a way,” you say at last, but that, too, is a lie.

You know that what you’re going to do will hurt. It will hurt more than anything else in your life has hurt you. You will blister and burn and bleed, until eventually, it will stop hurting. Then, when it does, Asriel will take your cherry-red soul into his hands, and you will live beside his heart forever as he leads the monsters into a new age.

But despite what you’ve been telling him, you doubt that any part of you will truly remain. You’ve never died before, of course, and so you can’t say for sure, but you can’t imagine death as anything but emptiness. You know that monster essences are supposed to linger, but you’re no monster; you’re just a worthless human being, doomed to fade away.

Still, Asriel doesn’t need to know that. By the time he becomes king, he’ll have forgotten you completely and moved on. That’s the way it _should_ be. And even if it hurts to die, even if you disappear, it will be for Asriel, and that means it will be worth it. You may lose out on the future he envisions for the two of you, but in exchange, you will secure the future of all monsterkind.

A small price to pay, really.

Judging from the way Asriel is staring at you, he’s clearly expecting a better reply than the one you gave. Finally you say, “Play this record at my funeral.”

“You’re not going to _have_ a funeral,” he answers sharply.

“I can dream, can’t I?” you say with a smile. It’s funny, isn’t it, for someone to be planning their own funeral at such a young age? Funnier still that you’ve been planning yours for years.

"Chara," Asriel says, and there’s something simultaneously desperate and reluctant in his voice. "Maybe we shouldn't..."

You cut him off by lunging forward, once again seizing his waist, this time for a twirl and an improvised dip: flashy and dramatic and hopefully enough to set his heart racing. He’s still small enough for you to be able to hold him upright, even though you know that he will grow soon. Not that you’ll be there to see it.

His eyes are wide as saucers as you grin down at him.

"What’s with all the second guessing?” you ask. “You should be smiling too! Aren’t you excited? Aren't you happy? You're going to be _free!"_

"Oh," Asriel breathes.

"It's going to be _wonderful,"_ you say, pulling him back upright, and you draw his hand to your mouth, kissing it softly. He squeaks as your lips touch the back of his hand. "We're going to save everyone, and then we'll be together forever. What more could you possibly want?”

Instead of answering, Asriel slides his arm around your waist and abruptly pulls you in, eyes hard.

"Forever," he repeats. “Do you promise?”

You almost burst out laughing.

Instead, you lift a hand to rest against his cheek.

"I promise,” you agree.

This time, Asriel is the one who leads, taking your hand and sweeping you into a new waltz. Despite all his timidity before, his steps now are quick and practiced and assured, so much so that it’s almost difficult for you to keep up. But he doesn’t slow down, doesn’t look away, and when you finally give in to the laugh that's been bubbling in your chest all night and begin to giggle, his mouth splits into a grin as well.

Your promise isn’t one that you’re expecting to be able to keep. You _want_ to, but you’ve been prepared for the possibility of disappearing entirely for quite some time. Even though you say you will, you doubt you’ll ever dance with him again.

Still, Asriel believes you. At least, he’s _convinced_ himself he does.

That’s enough.

The two of you dance long into the night, long past the end of the record. Honestly, it’s kind of funny. Although you're eager to begin your task, as you and Asriel cradle one another, you find that you don't want to let go.


End file.
